


summer storms

by estir



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magical Coffeeshop AU, Magical Realism, for kenhinaforthesoul on tumblr, newbie barista Hinata, regular with a unique order kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estir/pseuds/estir
Summary: He fidgets at the coffee bar while he waits. The steady beat of his pulse echoes in his ears as he shifts from one foot to the other. He’s the poster child of restlessness, and it’s all because of the cute new barista, Hinata.





	summer storms

**Author's Note:**

> IDK about y'all, but my life has been significantly improved by kenhinaforthesoul.tumblr.com; so here's some kenhina that I've been telling myself to write for an actual literal eternity.
> 
> Congrats on the 100+ followers!!

Someone once coined a phrase about “butterflies in the stomach” to describe the elation of falling in love. Tiny flower petals brush against your stomach lining, tense and tease the smooth muscle in bursts and flutters. Twitches from microscopic feelers tickle at your insides. If you’re not careful, they’ll fly up your esophagus and spill out the flutterings of your fledgling feelings to the world— what a sight that would be, the magic of colors and wonder erupting from between your trembling lips.

Kenma knows it’s all bullshit. This feeling isn’t something born from the beauty of nature. This is torture.

He fidgets at the coffee bar while he waits. The dead skin around his nails flakes away easily, but he knows that too much mindless picking will just leave him a bleeding mess. He tries to shove them in the front pocket of his pullover, but they pull free on instinct as the seconds drag on. The steady beat of his pulse echoes in his ears as he shifts from one foot to the other. He’s the poster child of restlessness, and it’s all because of the new barista.

An early spring rain patters against the charm draped like shimmering stars over the outside awning. Droplets splatter softly in midair, coat the city streets in a glistening sheen. Wide umbrellas bustle back and forth outside, and their colors and patterns morph at the wills of their dry wards. There aren’t enough people to turn the dark gray view into anything bursting with vivacity, but the sight isn’t monotonous. The coffeeshop is less crowded than usual, but the open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows can’t detract from the way its remaining patrons move stiffly, heavily, when they would rather not sit outside.

One of the faceless, nameless patrons knocks a porcelain tea cup to the rustic wood floor. It clatters noisily, but it doesn’t break. A curse resounds somewhere behind Kenma, and he flinches further into himself at the abrupt noise.

Kenma watches as one of the normal baristas, Daichi, nearly vaults the bar to help, ““It’s alright, sir! I got it. Happens all the time! Can I get you something else?”

An extra rag follows dutifully behind Daichi, slightly damp but not dripping. It nearly smacks into the back of Daichi’s head in his haste to clean the mess. Several patrons watch the show with mild interest before turning back to their laptops, books, and quiet conversations. The air around Daichi shudders with specks of warm orange light as he mops up the spill by hand, all for the illusion of humility.

The customer is swayed by the show. Kenma blinks his own attention back to the bar.

He accidentally makes brief eye contact with Asahi, the accident-prone giant who usually exists as the punchline for most of his coworkers’ bad jokes. Kenma smiles a little at his shoes when Asahi glances away just as quickly as Kenma does. He thinks he sees Asahi’s dark brown wings flutter in bashfulness, or maybe they just shiver in the lingering breeze from the storm. Asahi does complain about how sensitive they are, at times, when the steam rises around the espresso machines and pulls sweat across their brows.

That fleeting trail of thoughts pulls Kenma back to a certain new hire in the coffeeshop, to the hiss of air pressure and the grinding of beans. Strands of bright red hair glisten in wayward tufts just over the top of the espresso machine, barely in Kenma’s line of sight. They bounce to an uneven rhythm, to the soft chimes of raindrops along the street outside. The beginnings of a song waft into Kenma’s ears as he watches, despite the white noise that surrounds him.

It doesn’t make any sense. Between the music in his periphery and the weight in his chest, a warmth pulls Kenma to keep stealing glances across the bar. His cheeks don’t flush, but his skin itches. His pulse is racing in his ears, but his breathing is steady. Something about this moment feels a little too heavy for a normal, quiet afternoon. But nothing here is out of the ordinary, not the slight electricity in the damp air, not the heavy smell of coffee beans and chai, and certainly not the small crowd of people absorbed in their own worlds.

It’s honestly just…

“Kozume, have you met our newbie?” Daichi asks, hands full with broken pieces of porcelain and a deeply browned rag. Kenma jumps at the sudden voice, blinks against the pull of tenderness that threatens to keep him musing in his own unruly thoughts forever.

Daichi just smiles, “Ah, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“‘S fine,” Kenma replies automatically before clearing the knot out of his throat, “And, uh, no. I can’t really, um.”

He gestures toward his own forehead, mimics the height of the espresso machine with a weary smile. When Daichi turns his head with a curious expression in the lights of his dark brown eyes, the small strings of glitter around him shimmer a little brighter.

“The, um,” Kenma tries again, pointing helplessly toward the espresso machine.

Daichi glances between the bar and Kenma once, twice, before an airy laugh bubbles from behind his warm smile, “Yeah, he is a bit short. Hey, Hinata!”

Kenma’s heart seizes in his ribcage, gripped harshly and stilled in an invisible fist.

“Ah, I almost got it this time, I promise,” the redhead says as a hand reaches for the cinnamon shaker, “And I’m not that short! I’m just, uh…”

“Travel-sized?” Asahi supplies from behind Hinata.

“Half-pint?” Daichi counters.

“Vertically chall--”

“Okay, okay, we get it!” Hinata shouts with a laugh, and the melody tugs the hold on Kenma’s heart tighter, forces him to swallow a soft huff of laughter in return. He yearns to echo the sound, to hold it in his chest and replay it on repeat.

Hinata puts the final touches on his drink, sloppily throws everything back in place, and steps into view.

Kenma can’t breathe.

The coffeeshop isn’t well lit. Shadows lurk in off the streets in a steady parade, and the resulting atmosphere holds a purposed ambiance of calm. What little lighting resists is yellow and warm, but not overbearing.

Hinata is none of that.

The boy on the other side of the coffee bar is a little shorter than Kenma. His unruly red hair stands tall atop his forehead, but it can’t change the fact that Kenma’s eye-level meets his hairline. Kenma’s gaze is instantly drawn to wide, honey-coated irises. They sit atop a dusting of shifting and swirling stars, on cheeks littered with bright white and yellow freckles that move across his skin like galaxies. The freckles glow, and their tiny specks of light contrast against Hinata’s reddening cheeks and light up his eyes. If Kenma thought his laugh was captivating, he certainly has no chance against Hinata’s large appraising stare.

“Oh, I get it!” he says suddenly, and Kenma blinks away from the mesmerizing pattern on his cheekbones, “Asahi-san drew a cat on the cup because of your eyes, right?”

Kenma has misplaced his voice somewhere out in the rumbling thunderstorm. He can’t seem to respond with much more than a weary nod.

“T-that’s so cool! Your eyes are super intense and BAH! Are they all glow-y too? Do you have really good night vision? Oh! Wait!”

The onslaught of conversation leaves Kenma reeling, and even if he had wanted to get a word in, Hinata didn’t give him much of a chance. The exclamations are quieted when he thrusts the larger cardboard cup into Kenma’s personal space.

“Here’s your chai! Sorry I had to remake it twice, I’m still a bit new at the syrups and hot teas. I hope I made it right this time!”

Kenma nods a small smile at Hinata’s sincerity. The tug at his lips is a bit more fond than the chai tea deserves, but he can’t help the way the gravity enclosing his heartbeat begins to loosen.

“You’re Kozume, right?” he asks as Kenma takes a tentative sip. The warm tea and milk contrast deliciously with the spice in the chai, the sweetness of the caramel, and the familiar combination leaves Kenma feeling lighter. He can feel his cheeks warm as he glances up at Hinata’s eyes again, as he takes another soft sip. The flush filters through his bloodstream as Hinata continues to watch him. For a person so talkative and intense, he’s incredibly patient and calming.

Kenma finds his voice before the third sip, and the words that tumble from his lips are pulled out from the darkest recesses of his heart.

“‘Kenma’ is fine, if you want.”

The expression that grows so organically and softly across Hinata’s face is awe-inspiring. His eyes twinkle as bright as his freckles, but the magic doesn’t hold a candle to the beauty in the way his lips part in a wide grin.

“Then you should call me ‘Shoyo’. It’s nice to meet you, Kenma!”

Their smiles grow as Kenma nods. He can’t seem to bury the elation that bubbles just beneath the surface of his skin.

“Can I try a bit of your chai? It smells so good.”

Kenma bites his bottom lip as he hands the cup back to Hinata, “Go ahead, Shoyo.”

Butterflies erupt in giggles accompanying Hinata’s given name, and Kenma’s restlessness dissipates with the unrelenting rain. It’s a start, Kenma thinks, to something a little exciting.


End file.
